


Gravity Face

by DevilishKurumi



Series: Midlife Crisis [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sollux stresses out about work, gets high, and has sex with twins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity Face

**Author's Note:**

> Kit is my inspiration for most of the dumb high thoughts written herein.

            It's six in the afternoon - evening - and you're out of cigarettes.  You can't be assed to go out for more, either.  Cigarettes are completely fucking out of the question as far as you're concerned, with two more sites to put together and a few computers to repair that you're going to have to go on-site for (there's apparently no one else that can do this shit in the entire city), and the level of fucks you give has drastically dropped to the negatives.

            Dave has texted you six times today, almost on the hour, every hour, and you hate to admit that your answers have been concise to the point of being short with him.  You don't mean to, but you're stressed out and tired of dealing with stupid, pointless shit like computers and web design and everything.

            You stare at the computer screen and try to focus yourself, but all you want to do is fucking _smoke_.

            Your phone goes off with another text message - six-fifteen, now, a new record - and you try not to just turn the stupid thing off.

            _where u at_ , Dave's asking, and you type out _home_ , sending it before you can think about it.  You wonder if Karkat still has anything left in that bottle of scotch after you and him drank yourselves into a stupor Friday night.

            _wheres home_ , he asks, and you stare at the phone for almost five minutes.

            _Not here_ , you type out, then delete it and send him your address.

            _want company?_

            You're a little surprised by that.  You'd figured if you ever gave Dave your address, he and his brother (or just one of them, you don't know) would just show up at your door whenever they felt like it.  You never expected him to ask permission.

            _Iif you briing cigarette2 then ye2._

            It's probably kind of a dick move, but you don't care enough.  You don't want to get out of your chair and put on real people clothes and go down to the 7-11 just for a pack of fucking cigarettes, but you know you'll only get more irritated the longer you go without nicotine.  As it is, you're already berating yourself for not just acting like an adult and getting your own fucking shit.

            When you don't get a text back, you figure he's either given up, or he's going to come with a pack of American Spirits or something, just to fuck with you, and you force yourself to put together yet another contact page for a small business.

            You almost forget that Dave had even texted you when you hear a knock at your door, four short raps, and it makes you jerk back in your seat in surprise.  Shit.  You suddenly don't want any visitors whatsoever.  You want to break into the bottle of tequila you bought on your first night in the apartment, before the internet was hooked up, and not deal with anything.

            Four more knocks.  You finally pull yourself out of your chair, making your way around the boxes of unpacked clothing and computer wires to reach the front door.  You don't bother using the peephole; you're pretty sure that it's at least one of the twins, and if it isn't, it's probably Karkat.  You can deal with any of them.

            Dirk is leaning against the doorframe when you open the door, texting on his phone, wearing those leather gloves again.  Dave looks almost irritated, arms crossed, slouching, and he looks up from the generic welcome mat you have as soon as he hears the doorjambs creak.

            "Man," he says.  "You look like shit."

            You very nearly close the door on him, but Dirk reaches out and socks Dave across the arm, pushing him out of the way and holding out a pack of cigarettes.  He tucks his phone into his pocket.  "Here."

            "Thanks," you mumble, snatching the pack out of his hands; you don't care if you'll get a fine for smoking inside, unwrapping and pinching out one of the cigarettes as you step aside to let them in.  You're going to smoke right the fuck now.

            You realize that you must really be in a mood, because you're only _now_ realizing that your apartment is a fucking mess - that _you're_ a fucking mess.  You're wearing the same sweatpants you slept in, you haven't shaved since Friday, and you're not even sure if you showered.  No, you did, on Saturday morning, so it's only been three days?  Four?

            "What's today?" you ask, and the twins look at you.

            "Wednesday," Dirk responds, like he was anticipating the question.

            "Oh."  You probably smell like shit.  You dig around the pile of packing paper on your coffee table to find your lighter, then light your cigarette and take a deep, calming breath.  "Shit.  Sorry."

            "It's okay," Dirk says, and then he says, "You haven't shaved in a while."

            "Yeah," Dave adds, "I mean, don't get me wrong, stubble's hot and all, but you're gonna start developing lumberjack syndrome if you don't get on that soon."

            It's hard not to laugh at that, so you do, wheezing a little, and you shrug your shoulders helplessly.  "I guess I'm just too lazy.  You guys want anything?  I have some tequila.  And..."  Shit.  Do you have anything else?  Cigarettes, tequila and some Monster.  Some leftover curry from the Indian place down the street, which is pretty good but not nearly as good as your dad's cooking, and maybe some milk.  "I don't know, energy drinks."

            "You want us to order a pizza or something?" Dave asks as he makes himself at home on your couch, flopping down and moving one of the clay bowls you use as an ashtray to the coffee table.  "There's a Thai place nearby that's pretty sweet."

            "Uh.  I... guess.  If you want to?  Is that why you guys came over, to order takeout from a place closer to me than you?"

            Dirk raises an eyebrow behind his shades.  "No.  We came over to see you.  But since you don't have any food and your BMI is probably somewhere around anorexic, we might as well offer.  Our treat."

            "Plus, if we end up getting the munchies later, you're gonna want something to devour."  You really don't know how to take that, so you just sort of stare at Dave, chewing on your lip.  He stares back at you.  Then, slowly, like you're particularly out of touch, he says, "We have weed."

            "You look like you might need to get high," Dirk says when you don't respond, leaning his shoulder against yours briefly.  "If you want."

            It isn't like you've never smoked before.  You used to get high with Aradia in high school sometimes, and you'd been friends with too many stoners in college to not smoke with them once in a while too.  You don't know why this is throwing you for such a loop right fucking now.  You feel like a complete and total moron.

            "Uh."  You start more-or-less gnawing on your lip; Dirk lifts a thumb to the corner of your mouth and draws it across your lips until you're forced to open your mouth.

            "You're going to cut your lip open if you keep that up," he says, pulling his hand away.  "It's cool if you're not up for it.  Just thought we should offer."

            "That's not it," you say, and you try not to chew on your lip again, even though all you can do is look at his hand and imagine all over again what his thumb felt like against your lips.  "I just... uh.  Haven't smoked since college.  Like, junior year."

            "That's cool," Dave says, "It's like riding a bike.  I bet you're fucking hilarious when you're high."

            "Not that hilarious."  You frown, because you know that's kind of a lie - everyone you've smoked with has thought you were the funniest shit when you were stoned - but you know it was because you could hardly talk and you'd say the first stupid shit that came to your head, even if it was the worst thing possible.

            "That's cool too," Dave says.  "I still wanna get high with you."

            You wonder if that's such a good idea - then you wonder _why not?_   You've slept with the both of them, and it's not like you need to worry about drug testing with your job.  They can't see any worse of you, and you can't get fired because if it.

            "Okay," you say.  "Sure, whatever.  Nothing I haven't done before.  At least I won't have to deal with the fucking bullshit I've been dealing with all week."

            Dave bounces on the sofa, pulling out his phone.  "Awesome.  You like Thai, right?"

            "Uh, yeah.  Any noodle dish works for me."

            While Dave starts thumbing through his contacts, Dirk leans his shoulder against yours again and asks, "Do you have any water?"

            "Uh - I've got the sink, that's about it," you say, and he follows you into the kitchen.  You find a glass that isn't dirty and fill it from the tap; when you turn to hand it to Dirk, though, you find him standing a lot closer than you'd thought.

            "You shouldn't work so hard all the time," he says, his voice low and oddly sincere-sounding.  "It's not good for you."

            "Yeah, well.  What else am I going to do?"  You try to laugh about it, but Dirk looks serious.

            "I don't know."  When you shift, Dirk puts out his hands, gripping the countertop on either side of you.  "But you need to take better care of yourself."

            He doesn't look angry, only stoically sincere, but you feel intimidated anyway.  You don't know what else to do, so you just clutch the glass of water to your chest, like it could be some kind of barrier.  You nod, slowly.  "O-Okay.  Yeah."

            "Cool," he says, and he pulls away.  You hand him the glass of water.  "Dave should be about done with the order, so we can go get so stoned we forget we ordered food in the first place."

            "I'm not going to forget food," you say.  "I'm pretty sure I haven't eaten since... last night?  This morning?  Something like that."

            Dirk makes this noise in the back of his throat, but instead of starting in on you again, he just presses his hip into yours and gently guides you towards the short back hall, like he knows exactly where to go.  You look over your shoulder to see Dave tucking his phone away.  You don't think you even heard him talking.

            Dirk finally nudges past you to get into the bathroom, and you find yourself sitting on the edge of the bathtub, watching him as he pulls out a pipe, black with red stripes, from one of his pockets.  Dave closes the door behind him when he enters; he flashes a grin at you and you forget about your reservations.  The worst thing that'll happen here is you'll make an ass of yourself, slur a lot, and pass out on top of them.  It'll be fine.

            Dirk packs the bowl meticulously, despite Dave's impatient noises.  "Get a towel," he says when Dave groans in irritation, "Sollux, mind turning on the shower?  Not going to run the hot water out, right?"

            "Nah."  You do what you're told, going so far as to hand a towel over to Dave as you turn on the shower, twisting the dial all the way to the left.  You can only hope that it works well enough for Dirk.

            It's only when it starts to get really steamy that Dirk holds the pipe out to you.  "It's your bathroom we're smoking in," he says.  "Only fair you go first."

            You reach into the tissue box on the back of the toilet and pull out one of your lighters; it takes you a second of staring at the pipe before you bring it up to your lips, pressing your index finger against the carb, flicking the lighter and letting it graze the weed, catching it just enough that you can inhale.  Even though you smoke a lot already, there's a harsher buzz to this, and you do your best to hold the smoke in as you pass the pipe back to Dirk.

            Dave's staring at you.  Your shoulders sag and you exhale, and Dave exhales with you, even if he hasn't even had a hit yet.  You feel suddenly embarrassed, like maybe you did something wrong, even if it really is just like riding a bike, but Dirk doesn't say anything; he just takes the pipe and the lighter, inhaling long and holding in the smoke for a solid twenty seconds before exhaling, the smoke billowing and mingling with the steam from the shower.  Dave holds his breath even longer when it's his turn, and you feel encouraged to try to do the same when the pipe makes its way back to you.  They don't really talk, and neither do you; you just breathe in smoke and steam, and exhale.

            The first thing to go numb is your face.  It takes about two minutes for your high to really kick in - and you laugh out loud at that when Dave takes the pipe to clean it - but when it hits it hits _hard_.  Your hands feel numb-hot, and your arms feel way longer than usual, and Dave is laughing into Dirk's chest, punching him a  little.  Dirk smirks at you.  "You were wrong about not being hilarious."

            "Really?" you ask, and your tongue is so fucking cottony, your voice thick, and shit.  This was why you stopped getting stoned, you sound like a lemur with laryngitis.

            "Yeah.  Let's get Dave somewhere where he won't collapse."

            "We have to wait for the Thai food," you say, because you're ninety-percent sure that you said something about how you'd remember food no matter how stoned you were.

            "Yeah, we do," Dirk says, kind of supporting and pulling Dave along as he makes his way out of the bathroom.  You follow, grabbing the wall for support, and when you finally make it to the living room again, Dave is slouching against the couch, Dirk flopped bonelessly against him.  "There we go," he says, like this is exactly what he wanted the whole time.

            Dave laughs and you ask, "Where am I supposed to sit?"  Dave just laughs harder at your lisp, and Dirk forgets to punch him.

            "C'mon," he says, and then he smiles, transforming his face, making him look so much more _different_ from normal, "Sit in between us."

            "You laugh, but I'm totally doing that," you say, and you trip over the coffee table to fall in between them.  Dave pulls your hair and makes a face.

            "God damn, dude, when were you gonna wash your hair?"

            "Monday," you say, "But I got distracted."

            Dave makes a face but doesn't stop from running his hands through it.  "You feeling okay?" Dirk asks, and you chew your lip as you think it over.

            "Uh.  Well.  Certain sections of my face are being affected by a higher rate of gravity, and my feet are numb, and I've got pepper nose.  But I'm okay."

            Dave laughs harder and takes off his shades, dropping them onto the table.  Dirk does the same, then grins and buries his face in your neck.  You giggle and unabashedly snuggle into them, looping your arms around their shoulders.  You stay like that for what feels like hours, but you know it's not.

            It's actually only about fifteen minutes, and you struggle to sit up.  "The Thai food," you say, a little alarmed because what if you missed them?

            "It's not here yet," Dirk says.  "It's okay."

            You shouldn't feel as relieved as you do.  You start to giggle, and then gasp for air, unable to stop laughing.  Oh god.  Everything is so fucking _funny_.  "Oh," you finally manage to say, your voice strangled with giggles, "Good."

            Dave shudders and laughs against you, and Dirk chuckles against your neck.  You bring your hands up to their shoulders, pressing your fingers against their shirts - and god, you wish they weren't wearing their shirts.  All you want is to press your skin against theirs, all a little sweaty from the still-too-hot weather and the fact that you don't have the air conditioning on.  You want to strip them down and feel them against you and you want that now.

            You realize you're trying to take off your shirt when Dave and Dirk both grab at the fabric and help you slide it over your head.  You grin and stretch your arms and say, "Fuck, that feels so much better."

            "Yeah, it's fucking hot in here," Dave says, "Do you do that on purpose or what?"

            "I dunno," you admit, "I just never turn it on."

            Dirk pulls off his own shirt, and you stare at his hips, his abs, his chest.  He's so fucking gorgeous, you think (or say, you're not sure).  Dave shimmies against you and you look to see him pulling his tank top off.  He's thinner than his brother, but he's just as beautiful.  Fuck.

            "It's so warm," Dirk says, "I'm seriously gonna die."  He pushes off his shoes, then struggles out of his jeans; Dave forgets his shoes as he tries to kick off his own jeans, though, and gets them tangled up.

            You reach your arms over their shoulders and let your fingers run along their arms.  Dave gives up on his pants, bending his knees until he can hook his legs over your leg.  Dirk hooks one of his over the other, effectively pinning you down.  Not that you mind.  You don't mind so much that you let your head go backwards, leaden and tingling with bees, and groan when Dirk leans over to suck on your throat.  Dave twists in your arm, pulling you down until he can kiss you, sloppily, downright fucking lazily.

            Dirk's lips press against your neck, then your collarbone, and you press your fingers against his side.  You can feel metal against the tip of your tongue, and you remember Dave got his tongue pierced.  It's fucking amazing.  "You're amazing," you say instead.

            You realize distantly that you can hear something thumping; you don't know why, but you start tapping your foot in time with it, the rhythmic beat filling your chest, kind of burning in your throat.  Or that's just the harshness of the weed.  You don't know.

            Your doorbell goes off suddenly, and you remember something about food.  "Oh shit," you laugh into Dave's mouth, "The Thai food."

            "Oh shit," Dave mumbles, pulling away.  "Oh man.  I am way too fucked up to answer the door."

            "It's my door," you say, pushing at him, "I'll answer it."

            You manage to disentangle the twins from your general person, getting to your feet and pulling at your sweatpants as you move around to the door.

            There's a moment when you open the door that the sun seems to get right in your eyes, and you cover them briefly before squinting out at the guy holding your delivery.

            "What the fuck, Captor," Karkat snaps, "The delivery guy was standing here for like fifteen minutes.  You're lucky I took pity on your anorexic ass and got it before he completely bailed.  You owe me thirty bucks."

            _Oh shit,_ you think, just as Dave shouts, "I got the money!"

            Karkat raises one eyebrow, then the other, and then squints as he leans to look around the door.  You try not to wince as you push the door open more, like a guilty kid, and when you look, Dave has stopped wriggling around in his bunched-up jeans.  Instead, he's lounging as casually as he can with his feet in Dirk's lap.

            "Sup," he says.

            "Oh," Karkat says.  "Uh.  You're busy.  Here, just take your food, you owe me later."

            You don't know what to say.  There has to be a nice, smooth way of dismissing this situation, to making it not look as bad as it does -

            "You sure?  I think there's plenty of pad thai."

            Dave snorts and Dirk socks him in the shoulder.  Karkat turns fucking russet.  You're a little ashamed to think it's fucking adorable.  "No, that's - cool.  Uh.  Here," he says, shoving the bags into your hands, "Just.  Don't leave the delivery guy hanging next time."

            "Oh.  Okay."

            Karkat gives you another weird look, and then he absconds back to his apartment across the corridor.  You shut the door and look at Dave and Dirk.  "That was weird, wasn't it?"

            "Yeah, dude, you're fucking high and Vantas is a zeeb," Dave says, "Give me my fucking noodles."

            You giggle all the way back to them, hunching to try and keep upright, and when you get the food back to them, you're cracking up for no reason.

            You don't even know how much food you actually eat, because Dave starts talking about how, when you have food going into your mouth, you're having food going in as well as shooting waves out of your mouth, so things are both going in and out at the same time.

            Well, he starts saying something that sounds like that might be the general point.  You can't keep track, and it's complete bullshit anyway.  Dirk keeps laughing, little low noises of amusement, and you think it's fucking amazing.  You keep thinking everything's amazing, but you can't help yourself.  It really is, right now.

            Dave nearly spills your dish over your chest when he surges up suddenly to kiss you again, but you move it out of the way just in time, and you don't really care.  It's all good.  "I want your dick," he says, pulling on your lower lip with his teeth, "Sollux, oh my god.  I am so fuckin' done waitin'."

            Dirk takes your leftovers from you, and you look out of the corner of your eye to see him getting up.  Dave sucks on your lip and you focus on him, closing your eyes and pulling your arms around him.  He finally manages to pull his shoe through the leg of his jeans, and as soon as he does, he slides until he's straddling you, rolling his hips against yours, digging his short nails into your shoulders.  You pull him down on top of you, pressing your hands against his waist, and he moans into your mouth.  You feel it vibrate down your throat, all pressure, all heat, making your chest flutter like it did when you first stepped outside with them.

            You rock lazily together, his hands tangling in your hair, and Dirk doesn't come back from the kitchen.  You only barely notice, though, with Dave pulling your head back so that he can suck on your earlobe.  You close your eyes, gasping against the sensation, and he chuckles against your ear, breathing hot against you before sucking his way down your jawline, back to your lips.  You grab him by the shoulders, the back of his neck, then reach to squeeze his ass, pulling him just a little higher on your lap.

            "Fuck yeah," Dave drawls, pulling away only enough to look at you with a grin.  "You gettin' handsy, Captor?"

            "That's the kind of thing you like," you say.  Then, you bite your lip and ask, "Isn't it?"

            "Damn right I do," Dave says, and then he's kissing you again.  You grind up against him, pulling him down, and when he whines against you, you shudder head to foot.  You're mostly sure it's because of him and not because you get the shakes when you're stoned.

            Dirk climbs up next to you, petting your arm, your thigh, pulling your cock free from your briefs.  You roll your neck, Dave's mouth trailing along your cheek to your ear again, and stare bleary-eyed at Dirk as he almost methodically pulls at Dave's underwear.  Dave whines again, appreciative, and you hear him whisper, "Dirk, fuck," into your ear.

            "I like your smile," you say, and you try hard to force your goofy grin down, but it's impossible.  Dirk looks up at you and smiles, a little awkward, like he doesn't know how to do it naturally, and you move your hand to press your hand to Dirk's cheek.  "It's beautiful."

            "I like you high," Dave murmurs, "You're all fuckin' assertive and shit.  It's awesome."

            "Too loopy to care," you respond, and Dirk laughs quietly.

            "Yeah, well.  Keep being loopy," he says, and he leans in to kiss you.  It's remarkably chaste compared to what Dave's been doing to you, but you don't care, letting him press his lips lazily against yours, his teeth scraping your bottom lip gently, goading you to reciprocate, tugging on his lips, tracing your tongue against his teeth, gasping when Dave nips at your neck.  Dirk takes your glasses when he pulls back, dropping them onto the table and picking up a dark foil packet in the same move.  You try to catch your breath as you watch Dirk rip the packet with his teeth.

            " _Yes_ ," hisses Dave, "Fuck yes."

            Dirk's hand, slick with lube, wraps around your dick, stroking you slow, and you roll your head to try and chase down Dave's mouth with your own, rocking your hips up into Dirk's hand.  Dave presses flush against you, pushing Dirk away from you, and struggles to pull his underwear off.  He manages without barely climbing out of your lap, and you run your hands all the way up his back, feeling the slight ridges of his spine, pressing in just the right points to get him to arch forward into you.

            "You're in a rush," you say, trying to keep from giggling.  He barks out a little laugh in return, wrapping his hand around your cock as he pushes up onto his knees.

            "I've been fuckin' thinkin' about this for... fuckin'..."  He cuts himself off with a gasp as he lowers himself onto you, his eyes closing, his chin tilting up, and you don't know why but you're focusing so closely on his face right now, focusing on how tight he feels around you, fuck, _fuck_ -

            Dave shudders and pants, still save for the tremor between his shoulder blades.  He mouths something that you can't figure out, and then he shifts on his knees and pulls himself off of you, slow, gripping your shoulders.  Your feet feel heavy while the rest of you is floating light, and you're dizzy with the sensation of Dave pinning you to the couch.  You roll your hips, bucking upwards, and he gasps and presses down against you, and you do it again until he sets his own pace, fucking himself on your dick, you just along for the ride.  You roll your head back and it feels like you're drowning in the increasingly loud, monosyllabic noises Dave's making, mostly vowels and some hisses.  He's so fucking tight around you and he's not holding back, and when you tilt your head you can see Dirk watching the both of you.  He has his hand wrapped around his dick, his strokes fast and short, his eyes fixated on the way Dave grinds against you, the way your toes are curling and the way your muscles tighten.  He watches the two of you so intently that you feel almost guilty for not finding a way to incorporate him.

            You reach out, trailing your fingertips briefly down his chest, then his stomach, before clumsily moving his hand aside, picking a pace slower than before, more in time with how you feel Dave's body is moving.  Dirk hisses out your name, his fingers gripping the edge of the cushion, and he presses his forehead into your shoulder.

            "Fuck," Dave gasps, " _Fuck_."  You roll your head back to look at the ceiling, feeling Dave's breath against your throat as he leans forward, moaning like a desperate man, matching your attempts to thrust into him with his own bodyweight.  Dirk presses open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder, curling his free hand around your bicep as you work him over, gasping hot against your skin.  You feel like the only thing weighted down on you are your feet, and all you can wonder is how you came into this, how you got to be so fucking lucky to have caught the eyes of these two.  You haven't felt so overwhelmed in fucking years.

            "Please," you murmur, and Dave bites your lip.  You draw your head off the back of the couch and say again, desperately, " _Please_ , fuck, oh my god, _Dave_."

            Dirk twists and pushes himself closer to the two of you, his leg pressing against yours, and you turn your head to find him pressing his face against the nape of your neck, holding onto your arm still, bucking his hips as you stroke his cock, faster now, without thinking about it because you're too overwhelmed to really _think_.

            " _Yes,_ " Dirk whines, and Dave drops a hand to wrap around his own cock, his eyes fixated on your hand on Dirk.  You want to push Dave over and fuck him on his back, but you don't want to move, and so you end up rolling your hips, Dave frantically trying to match your pace as he jerks himself off, catching your lips in a sloppy kiss.

            "C'mon," Dave's saying, "C'mon, baby," and you ignore Dirk's frustrated groan as you pull your hand away, grabbing Dave's hips and pulling him down onto you, just enough to make your thrusts short and hard.  Dave cries out, voice jerking and skipping with every thrust, and he grips his dick and strokes hard, not even trying to keep pace.  Dirk is kissing your shoulder, and your eyes are fixed on Dave, his face tense, eyes screwed shut, and you come harder than you've come in the last month.  Dave rides your frantic, jerky movements out, and then he stays on top of you as he jerks himself off, grounding out a distant facsimile of your name when he finally finishes across your stomach.

            Dirk presses his leg in again, digging his hip into the curve between your leg and Dave's, and you manage to bend your elbow and wrap your hand around his dick.  His fingernails dig into Dave's knee, his hips rocking against you.  Dave reaches out and grips the back of Dirk's neck, leaning in close.  You can hear him whispering, "Come for me, Dirk, c'mon, fuckin' so close, I can feel it," and his words send shudders down your spine.  Dirk hisses and you feel him twitch in your hand; he's so close that it might very nearly hurt, and you try to pick up the pace as best you can.  He makes that porn-star moan, and when he comes he bites down on your arm.

            You manage not to make a mess of the couch, which is definitely a good thing.  Dirk keeps his body pressed against you even when he's done, and Dave just sits in your lap, kissing his way up your neck.  When he reaches your lips, he kisses you lazily, like he has nothing better in the world to do.  You don't want to move, even if you're fucking filthy and really need a shower.  You just lie there, shifting your arm under Dirk to wrap around his waist, your other hand draped on Dave's thigh.

            "Jesus fuck," Dave says, and drops his head to the curve of your neck.  "Fucking _fuck_ , man."

            Dirk mumbles an agreement, but you can tell he's close to passing out.  You get the feeling that he probably didn't get a lot of sleep last night.  Or the night before that.  You really need to take a shower, but you don't think you can come up with the willpower to move.  You're still pretty stoned.

            "Shit," Dave says, "We left the shower on."

            "Let it run," you say, massaging his thigh.  You'd thought it had sounded pretty romantic, but Dave just laughs and squirms away, padding off to turn off the shower.  You slump in with Dirk and close your eyes, waiting for Dave to come back.

            When you open your eyes next, it's almost two in the morning.  Dave and Dirk are still with you, slumped on either side.  There's a towel on the coffee table, and a blanket over the three of you, pulled haphazardly out of one of the boxes.  The room is still pretty warm, but you just feel comfortable.

            You sleep until almost ten in the morning, waking up alone under the blanket, curled on the sofa cushions.  Neither Strider are around, and both of their sunglasses are missing.  There's a note resting over your glasses, and you fumble with it as you push your glasses onto your face.

            _went for breakfast brb_

            There's a scribbled signature that looks like it might be Dave's, and you wonder about it for a minute.  They're coming back?  With breakfast?

            You wait for a minute, crumpling up the note and tossing it aside, and then you get up and head to take a shower.  You're relatively clean given what you'd been up to, you guess, but it's been too long since you scrubbed yourself down and you don't want Dave or Dirk to see you in such a prolonged state of fucking grossness.

            By the time you get out, throwing on a pair of clean sweatpants as you move down the hall, Dave and Dirk are back, settled on the couch with bags on either side of them.  There's enough room between them for you to sit, but you don't immediately climb into it.

            "Got McDonalds for you," Dave says.  Dirk holds up a bag, then shakes it when you hesitate, encouraging you to slip between them and settle in.  He tosses the bag onto your lap, and you eat your McMuffin without looking at either of them.

            "If you give us money, we'll go get you groceries," Dirk says, "So we don't have to eat shitty breakfast food next time."

            You swallow and shake your head, looking at him.  You want to ask if there's actually going to be a next time, but all you can manage is, "I can get my own groceries, I'm not completely awful at surviving on my own."

            "Hey," Dirk shrugs, ripping off piece of his hashbrown, "Just offering."

            "Get some Bisquick while you're out," Dave says, and you punch him in the thigh.  "Ow!  Stop fuckin' hitting me!"

            "He's only doing it because I can't," Dirk drawls, and you feel them both press into your sides.  You finish your sandwich and toss the bag aside, and when you put your arms around their shoulders and close your eyes, they don't hassle you about taking a nap.  They're even there when you wake up.  You don't know why, but it makes their eventual departure a little bittersweet - and more than that, it makes getting back to work a whole lot easier.


End file.
